Where Are You?
by WinterGarden
Summary: He didn't wake up screaming or shouting. He didn't toss or turn, trying to escape the nightmares. He woke up terrified and hating himself. Post-Mockingjay, Peeta-centric.


**My first Hunger Games fic! I never thought there was enough of Peeta and his family, or any insight to how he felt after the war was over. This is my take on it! Please review if you like, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing at all!**

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He woke up in a cold sweat, sometimes. Not like Katniss did, though. When Katniss woke up screaming, she would turn into Peeta and he would wrap her in his arms, humming softly into her hair and rocking her back and forth. This would last half an hour, maybe, and then Katniss would fall back asleep. Peeta lay her back down, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and kissing her forehead before he fell back asleep. It didn't happen all the time, but it did happen. And it happened like this every time.

But when Peeta woke in the middle of the night, he didn't scream. He was breathing heavily and terrified—but he didn't scream. And he didn't wake Katniss up or whisper to her or embrace her. Instead he just turned over on his side, making sure that she wouldn't be able to see the tears leak from his eyes.

He wasn't ashamed when he had nightmares about the Games. And especially not when he had nightmares about being tortured in the Captiol. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to scream, beg for mercy, but he stopped himself. No, he was not ashamed of those. Those nightmares were justified with bloody, screaming history. But these nightmares weren't about those days, filled with blood and fear and panic. They didn't take place in a lush forest, and there weren't any weapons.

These nightmares brought Peeta right back to the bakery. Right back to where he grew up. Right back to where he'd walk down the stairs and see his mother slouched at the kitchen table, eyes dark and lips tight. When Peeta was little, he used to tremble as he walked down the stairs, a new fear with every step. He didn't want her to hit him, or yell at him, or call him names. His brothers were older—they were out in the square. His father always disappeared in the mornings, running errands or getting supplies or trading. It was just Peeta and his mother.

The nightmares always began this way. Peeta walking down the stairs, trembling with every step. He wasn't little, though. He was eighteen-years-old, but the fear was just the same. When he got to the kitchen, though, his entire family sat at the table. Peeta stopped for a moment, looking around.

_What are you guys doing here?_

Nobody answered. Nobody even looked at him.

_Guys?_

Peeta turned to his brothers, inspecting their blank faces. Their eyes were grey. After Peeta waved his hand, they turned to look at them, their eyes so hollow and lifeless. Peeta turned to his father.

_Dad?_

His father looked at him with those same dead eyes, and spoke. His voice was nothing like it used to be. It was deep and empty and filled the entire house, so chilling that a shiver ran through Peeta.

_Where were you, Peeta?_

Suddenly there were explosions outside, and deafening screams filled the air. Screams of women and children and families. Fear rose in Peeta's throat, and he felt like he had to throw up.

_Where were you, Peeta?_ His brothers asked, turning to face him. Deep, hollow voices. Soon, all three were asking.

_Where were you? Where were you? Where were you? _Their voices rose, louder and louder, and the screams seeped through the walls, and the explosions shook the ground. Peeta covered his ears, sobbing, like a child. He turned away from them and met his mother, who towered over him, eyes just as lifeless as her family's.

_Where were you? _She screeched, and reached out to slap Peeta across the face. Before she could even touch him, though, there was another ear-splitting explosion and she, her husband, and the two boys were enveloped in a bright white light. Their words were replaced with screams, and it was then that Peeta realized that he was screaming too.

And that was when he woke up, shaking so badly he was worried he'd wake Katniss. Tears streamed down Peeta's face, soaking his pillow. He wasn't there when his family died. He wasn't there to see his father, the one person who had ever truly loved him, die. His brothers, who he hadn't spoken to in what seemed like years. Gone. The last thing his mother had said to him was how much of a fool he made out of their family.

And he let them die.

He hated the bakery. He hated that life.

But he didn't want it to burn.

A sob escaped Peeta before he could stop it, and he heard Katniss stir next to him. He covered his mouth, shoulders shaking violently, before feeling a hand on his arm.

"Peeta?" Katniss asked quietly. She rubbed his arm lightly. "Peeta."

Peeta didn't turn around. He felt the bed shift, and knew that Katniss was getting up. In a heartbeat, she was kneeling in front of him, leaning on the ledge of the bed.

"What happened?" She asked, clasping his hand. Peeta shook his head, taking a deep, rattling breath.

"I—I had a nightmare," He choked, rubbing his eyes. "About—about my family—"

"What happened in your dream?" Katniss asked, eyes boring into his. Peeta stared straight back at her, wishing he could lose himself in her again.

"I let them die," Peeta whispered. Katniss could barely hear him. "I let it burn."

Katniss took a deep breath and rested her cheek on the pillow, nose inches away from Peeta's.

"I'm not very good at this," Katniss started, and Peeta let out a watery smile. "But I can tell you one thing. You did not let them die."

A single tear rolled down Peeta's cheek, which Katniss caught with her thumb.

"You are the kindest man I have ever known. You saved so many people, Peeta. What happened—what happened wasn't your fault. There was a war going on."

Peeta nodded, pursing his lips. A few more tears.

"There was a war that you helped win. I know I can't make these go away, but—" Katniss paused, running her fingers through Peeta's hair and sighing. "Oh, Peeta. Where are you, Peeta? You feel so far away right now, and I want you to come back." Her voice was so filled with pity that Peeta felt a lump form in his throat.

Peeta turned his head toward Katniss again, and they watched one another for a long time.

"I can't make these go away," Katniss whispered, "But you have to know how much I love you. How much the _world_ loves you. Come back to me and realize that, okay? And we can figure it out in the morning." Katniss kissed Peeta's forehead, just like he had done for her so many nights in the past. "Everything is better in the morning." Peeta closed his eyes under the warmth of her lips, letting the last of his tears leak from his eyes and taking a deep breath.

They stayed like that for a long time, Katniss kneeling beside Peeta and holding his hand. She hummed, just like he did for her. She smiled softly whenever he looked towards her, knowing that he needed a bit of light in a very dark time. After a while, Peeta was asleep again, chest rising and falling rhythmically. His cheeks were still flushed and his pillow wet from tears. Katniss kissed him one last time before climbing into bed next to him.

And deep down, Peeta knew. It would be better in the morning. Everything was. No one could make those nightmares disappear. No one could make the memories any less painful, or stop the tears completely. But every morning, it got a little better. Every time Katniss held his hand, it got a little better. Every time she smiled at him, it got a little better.

And that was just enough.


End file.
